


Spark & Pine

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Boxing Day, Campfires, F/M, Sleepy Kisses, Surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28255443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: Robin and Strike are on surveillance outdoors and build a campfire to pass the cold evening...
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 15
Kudos: 46
Collections: Denmark Street Discord Sekrit Santa 2020





	Spark & Pine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flanker27_UK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flanker27_UK/gifts).



“This looks like a good spot,” Robin declared, setting down her rucksack with cheerful finality. 

Strike glanced quickly up into the surrounding pine trees, standing sentinel above the clearing in which they stood. Even higher, jutting out from the forest cliffside, was a huge house with floor to ceiling glass windows. It loomed silent and empty, its brutal modern angles defying the trees’ wild embrace. 

Strike and Robin would be able to see whatever took place in the glass windowed front room. This evening it would be a party where, hopefully, their mark would be with his business partner. 

Strike turned to her and gave her a nod. 

“Excellent spot.”

They began to set up camp, Robin gathering small, drier twigs, while Strike heaved and rolled a promising looking fallen log closer. The air was crisp; it promised to be a clear night.

“You know,” said Robin, standing and facing Strike with pink-tinged cheeks, “I thought that having a camping stakeout, on Boxing Day no less, was a crazy idea.”

Strike straightened too, and the hint of a pleased smile hovered in the scruff at his jaw. 

“But,” continued Robin, laughing at the smug expression threatening on his face, “I admit it’s kind of brilliant. They’ll never notice us, and we’ll get fantastic pictures of the party from here. And it saves us months of undercover work at their office, trying to get in from that angle.”

He opened his mouth, grinning, but she forestalled him, saying, “Don’t be smug about it, or else I’m not taking out the crisps I secretly packed.”

“Too late. I’m leaking smugness.”

“Well, stop it. You’ll get it all over the fire.”

He chuckled and bent awkwardly over the small pyramid of wood he had built. His balance looked unsteady, but Robin knew better than to offer help, and after a precarious moment, he struck the match, lighting the kindling at the base. The small flame grew, eating at the wood, and a wisp of smoke rose into the twilight.

Robin pulled out the sandwiches she had packed while Strike took their blanket and laid it over the log by the fire, sitting down heavily. Dusk was turning steadily into darkness, falling over them like a blanket.

Robin rubbed her arms, shifting from foot to foot, and tried to stop her teeth from clattering.

“You were right - it’s bloody cold.”

“Sit over here; I’ll warm you up.”

Their eyes met across the flames; sparks danced upwards in bright, flaring leaps before dying in the air. In the closeness of the fire’s orange glow, the words carried a suggestive intensity. 

“C’mere,” said Strike gruffly, his decisive tone shattering the moment. 

Robin stepped over to the log, settling beside him on the blanket. 

“Come here _properly_ ,” he said, and grinning, and reached out his arm, pulling her snug against his side. 

For a few seconds, she remained upright and stiff; the closeness of being pressed against him was suddenly intimate. She could feel his broad chest beneath the bulky sweater, could sense the unshakeable solidity of him, and the strength in his arm, held loosely and comfortably at her waist.

Then, the combined warmth of Strike and the fire began to slowly spread, and Robin took a deep breath, relaxing.

“It’s peaceful.” Robin was tucked so cozily into his side she felt the vibration of his agreement.

“Yes.”

A moment, and then, his soft, deep, voice rumbled into the stillness-

_“Good King Wenceslas looked out-”_

Robin uttered a soft, surprised sound; a note of something like laughter but closer to delight. She looked at his profile, and he was smiling as he kept looking straight ahead at the fire, and continued.

_“On the feast of Stephen.”_

Robin looked back at the fire, letting the feel of his low voice roll over her. 

_“As the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.”_

She let the moment curl in on itself, then splinter into perfect pieces; the stars above twinkling, the fire popping merrily, the scent of pine and smoke lingering in the night air. Strike’s singing, his deep timbre sinking into her skin.

He kept going, spinning the moment like a spell, his voice fading more and more quietly until it was absorbed into the watching trees.

Robin spoke into the silent dark. 

“That was lovely.”

An amused huff floated into the air.

“Haven’t sung that one in awhile.”

A weighted, tranquil silence. Then he shifted so he could look down at her, his eyes reflecting the firelight.

“My mum used to sing all the time. When Luce and I were little.”

Robin nodded, looking into the bearded, worn face of a forty year-old man and thinking of the little boy he had once been.

These clues to who he was, these puzzle pieces of his past; they were parts of him that he showed to her more and more, these days. They were gifts that she treasured.

Strike looked away, nodding up at the house, the front room glowing like a beacon, the party in full swing, the people milling about with drinks in their hands. Robin became aware of the far-away thud of bass; music had started up.

And there, pressed against the glass, was their mark and his business partner, entwined in an extremely compromising kiss.

Robin reached for the camera at her feet, turned slightly so she was facing the house, and flipped off the lens cover. She leaned back slightly against Strike’s chest and zoomed in, getting a dozen or so shots of the couple. 

“Perfect,” she said, putting the camera down and facing Strike, feeling highly satisfied. 

“That just saved us _weeks_ of time. I still can’t believe how easy this was.”

Strike nodded. 

“Yeah.”

Neither of them said anything about the fact that his arm was still securely around her waist. 

And Robin didn’t move away. 

“Shall we stay here a bit longer?” 

His expression was unreadable. 

“Yeah.”

They descended into silence once more, and Robin relaxed back against him. The fire crackled its hypnotic song, and comfortable heat stole slowly through her. The last thing she was aware of was laying her head against his chest, and the feel of his stubble as he rested his chin against the top of her hair.

*****

Robin blinked awake. How long had she been asleep?

She squinted fuzzy-eyed at the fire, now grey ash and shimmering, ruby-red coals. The night surrounded them, heavy and deep.

His voice was quiet, extremely low, and she felt the immediacy of the words, like sparks in the darkness, whispered into the crown of her head.

“Been about half an hour.”

The muffled sounds of the party could still be heard, far above them. They should probably head back, she thought. They had what they came for, there was no need to stay. 

Robin realized how deeply she was burrowed into Strike’s warmth. She lifted her head to suggest that maybe they should start to pack up, leaning slightly back so she could look at his face. It was so dark that she sensed his smile more than saw it. 

And then he was bending his head down to hers, and she was reaching a hand up to his collar, and their lips met.

Sweetness and smoke. His lips were soft, his scruff ticklish, and then, a heartbeat later, she opened her mouth to him, his tongue meeting hers. There was no hesitation, but no urgency, either, as they kissed, slow and warm in the surrounding dark, the trees standing guard around them. 

*****

Later, after they packed up, and after a car ride filled with a giddy atmosphere and sheepish, delighted smiles at each other, Robin waved goodbye to Strike as he headed inside the door of the office. 

She drove towards her own place, humming to herself, the scent of campfire and pine lingering on her clothes, the taste of his kiss still on her lips.


End file.
